


a singular focus

by redpaint



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has accepted that there will always be a part of him composing the next argument even in their private quarters, even as he strips bare in front of her and stares at her where she’s ensconced in the blankets of the bed.</p><p>“I could think less.”</p><p>“You could?” Eliza says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a singular focus

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to kisatsel, whose editing always kicks my ass in the best way, peakgay for the cheerleading, also to audenrain whose alex/eliza is wonderful and definitely influenced this fic.

Alexander’s footsteps are distinct in the otherwise silent house. Eliza’s been up for hours, not wanting to fall asleep in an empty bed when her husband is only a few rooms away, but since the hour hand slipped past twelve her patience has grown thin. She listens as they draw nearer, wagers with herself when he’ll make it to the bedroom and in what state of unkemptness he will be after spending so many hours in the office. When he enters, she sets aside her letter to Angelica _(We speak of you so often it is as though you are here with us, there is always a room empty and waiting for you should you choose to bless us with a visit)_ and assesses the damage.

He could certainly be worse, but his hair is haphazard in a way that tells Eliza he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s a smear of ink down his left sleeve. He looks tired, yes, but he smiles when he sees that she’s still awake.

“Do you feel prepared for tomorrow?” she says. Alexander will be in court early, probably gone before she even wakes to begin on breakfast. He’s taken to trying out ideas around the house, muttering at length about motives for murder as he paces between his office and the parlor. His exhaustion now is at odds with the tense, snappish air he’s kept about him as the trial has approached.

“I would have thought you’d be asleep by now. It’s late even for me,” Alexander says as he unbuttons his waistcoat.

“This is the only time I don’t have to share you with anyone else, except maybe whatever you have working at the back of your mind,” Eliza says.

She allows her gaze to follow the line of Alexander’s back as he tugs his shirt over his head. There are scars there that grow more pronounced in the candlelight. Alexander gives her a guilty look as a shrug as he starts in on his breeches. He doesn’t contradict her, and she doesn’t expect him to; she has accepted that there will always be a part of him composing the next argument even in their private quarters, even as he strips bare in front of her and stares at her where she’s ensconced in the blankets of the bed.

He looks as though he’s about to speak, but then he turns back to the armoire. When he faces her again, he isn’t holding the simple linen nightshirt she expected, but a pair of her heavy winter stockings, the ones in gray wool. He drops them in the center of the bed.

“I could think less.”

“You could?” Eliza says, though it’s clear what he means. There is nothing new about this, but there’s still something thrilling in hearing him find the words to ask for what he wants. The unstoppable force of his eloquence can fail him at times like this. It’s a reminder to them both that he is still human underneath his intellect.

“When you, you know, restrain me, the noise and the outside world are quiet and it’s just you and me. I want to give you that. You deserve to not have to share me with the case I’m going to argue tomorrow.” Alexander lays his vulnerability on the table, speaks with a warmth and honesty that leaves her breathless.

Eliza smiles and sets the stockings on the bedside table. “Come here,” she says, and beckons to Alexander, and he does, crawling onto the bed. She lifts the heavy quilt from her lap and kicks it down around her feet. On his way to her Alexander throws it the rest of the way to the foot of the bed, leaving just the two of them in the expanse of the downy mattress. With only her shift between her skin and the bite of the night air Eliza shivers, but pulls it over her head anyways. Alexander’s skin is hot against her own. She wraps her limbs around his as he leans down to place kisses across her neck and jaw.

Once they are thoroughly tangled, skin to skin, she rolls them over, so that Alexander’s head sinks into the pillows, his dark hair fanned out across the clean white linen. He looks up at her, so full of hope that she has to kiss him to stop herself from teasing or laughing or both. It’s clear how much he wants, his cock already straining red against his stomach, but he lays pliant beneath her until she takes his hands in her own and positions them above his head.

The two of them barely breathe as she takes the stockings from the table and winds them around his wrists in a rudimentary knot. Eliza knows nothing of knots besides how her childhood horses were secured in the stable. However, she has some experience with securing her impatient husband, and it able to piece together a restraint that appears sturdy. Alexander tugs at it, testing his range of motion, and when he finds no faults in her work the tension goes from his muscles and he melts into the mattress.

Eliza reaches up and places one hand over his wrists, leans on them until they’re pinned against the bed. “Keep those right there, okay?” she says, sweet as molasses. He’s quick to nod, and his hands stay put even as she draws back to sit up on her knees.

She settles herself with one knee on either side of his chest and runs her hands over his shoulders. He carries more weight on himself now than he did as a soldier, but his arms are still lean, and she can feel the tension in his muscles. His hands curl into fists when she rocks against his chest, lets him feel her wetness on his skin.

“God, Eliza, come here, please. I want to taste you. I want—” She cuts off his babbling with a thumb on his lower lip. It’s rough and cracked under her touch (he must have been chewing it raw as he worked) but flushed an inviting shade of red that makes resisting his pleas difficult to do. However, this is only the beginning of his desperation; he has yet to resort to nicknames or endearments or profanities. Her thumb slides over his tongue, and he relaxes, takes her in.

“You can give that pretty mouth a break,” she says, but he’s never given himself a break in his life. His lips purse around her thumb, and she drags it out slowly. The purse turns to a pout in her absence. She smears the spit on her thumb over his cheek as she tuts. “Now, don’t tire yourself out before I’m even started with you.”

He lets out a wordless groan and turns his face into the pillow. That won’t do. She grabs him by the chin, coaxes him back to to stare up at her. “I want you to keep your eyes on me. Don’t wander from me now,” she says, and lets him go. She brushes two fingers up her thigh as he nods and breathes, “Yeah, sweetheart, whatever you want. Could look at you for hours, days; it’s like you were made in the image of heaven itself.”

She merely shushes him, and watches his eyes fall to her cunt as she slicks her fingers in her own wetness. His chest ceases to move under her for a single satisfying second. She drags the tip of one finger over her clit, a tease for them both. With her other hand she brushes the hair out of her face and scratches lightly over the skin of her own neck and collarbone, drawing out an involuntary shudder. She can go like this for hours, sometimes does when Alexander is away on business and there is no one with whom to share the bed. That being said, she is not without pity, and the hunger in her husband’s eyes is enough to engage her generous side. But not quite yet.

She slides three fingers over her entrance and across her clit, bears down on them with more of her weight. It’s a familiar enough feeling that still shocks her with its sweetness, and she hums as she does it again. Her other hand drops to Alexander’s chest to pinch at his nipple. It’s meant to be more frustrating than relieving, a touch from her but not the right sort, and he squirms under her.

“Please, let me do this for you. Let me do my part as a husband,” He strains upward as he speaks, like he might be able to bring his mouth to her if she will not move, but he only succeeds in moving a pitiful few inches before falling back against the mattress. Eliza sighs; he is nothing if not persistent.

She grinds against her fingers one last time before she slips them past his lips. She presses them back as far as she knows he can comfortably take them, then a little more. He jumps a little when he gags, but she pulls back slightly to let him recover. He takes a few heavy breaths through his nose that tickle the sensitive skin on her thighs, then returns to his task, licking between each finger and grazing the knuckle with his teeth. It’s a strange sensation, a heady mix of soft and sharp. He performs as though it is an audition sequence, _remember what I can do,_ and it sends a wave of heat through her center.

He follows her when she draws the fingers from his mouth, parting with them reluctantly. His gaze from below is devotional, so wide-open she momentarily considers untying him and letting herself be drowned in millions of his sweet kisses. But his uncompromising focus is tied to her power over him, and now that that focus is on her she cannot stand to let it go. She rewards it with a kiss of her own, leaning down to bite down gently on his lower lip and meet his clever tongue with her own. He has always tasted so sweet, nearly feminine, like rosewater. It had seemed incongruous with Alexander the soldier, but it suits Alexander the husband, so she kisses him deeply until her body is completely curled over his, hair a curtain around them, and they both are panting for air.

Barely giving him time to catch his breath, she shifts herself forward, braces one hand against the headboard and the other against the mattress, and lowers herself over Alexander’s pliant mouth. He arches up into her, sealing his lips against her and sucking hard with no preamble, but she’s more than ready, a sigh escaping her as she settles into her position. She longs to have his hands brace around her thighs, steadying her even as he opens her up further, but they flex uselessly against their restraints over his head. That’s a pretty sight as well, the frantic flexing in his wrists and forearms as he grasps at the air for her. She rolls her hips forward, and between the wetness of her cunt and his mouth it’s frictionless. It feels like ascending.

“Oh, you’re so good when you put your mind to a single task,” Eliza says, catching his eye from where he peers up from between her thighs. He moans against her in response, blinks those black eyes slowly, and drags the tip of his tongue over her entrance and in a teasing circle around her clit. It’s not enough, not when she knows the feeling of the full force of his lips and tongue. She shifts her hand on the bed to grab at a fistfull of his hair and drag it out enough to effectively immobilize his head and make him whine. It’s an easy victory, and it means she can grind down on his mouth with abandon to get the perfect slide of him against her center.

Her thighs begin to quake too soon for her liking, the warmth spreading out from her cunt almost too quickly for her to stop. She pulls off his mouth just in time, takes a steadying breath and she hears Alexander do the same below her. “Are you alright?” he says, still sounding vaguely winded but also detached in that way he gets when she takes control for long enough. She turns her head to giggle into the arm that is supporting her by the headboard.

“I’m better than alright, just give me a moment,” she replies. As industrious as ever, he quickly takes to peppering her thighs with delicate kisses. It feels good, but he’s dangerously close to brushing her oversensitive clit, so she pulls him back by the hair, watches him gasp into it. “I know you can be good at following orders when you want to be. I told you to give me a moment.”

Neither of them speak or move for a minute; beneath her, Alexander’s mouth gapes open, his eyes half-shut. When Eliza is certain her composure has returned, she eases herself back down onto him. This time he tenses his tongue hard against her clit, giving her firm licks with the kind of single-minded determination she loves. It brings her back to the edge too quickly, her head starting to spin, but it feels too damn good to pull away. Instead, she pinches at her nipple with her free hand, tightens the one in Alexander’s hair, and feels Alexander’s moan vibrate against her as she comes. Alexander licks her through it, lighter now but still carrying on until she’s sensitive enough that it hurts, and she pushes back to perch on her hands and knees over him.

Her arms shake a little, but she closes her eyes and breathes through it until she feels a little bit steadier. When she looks back down, Alexander is shifting, uncomfortable but incapable of doing anything about it. “Do you need something?” she asks, voice full of mock concern. She doesn’t need to look back to know his cock must be painfully hard from neglect at this point. It wouldn’t be as pleasurable to see him so desperate, nearly to the point of tears, if she didn’t acutely remember how much he likes this, and how grateful he is afterwards.

“Your touch, please, or untie me and let me use my own, Eliza _please_ I need something, some relief,” Alexander says, the words rushing out as though he had been waiting to speak since she came.

“Oh I can’t do that, I need you here with me. If I untie you, you’ll have your hand on your cock but your mind in the courtroom,” Eliza says. She traces over the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist with a blunt nail, and relishes the shiver it draws from him.

“Darling, I will beg, but before I do I must ask you to take mercy on me. I want you so badly I feel as though I am going out of my mind.”

Eliza considers it. Despite his mouthiness, his hands never strayed from over his head and he had brought her to a bone-melting orgasm with skill. She knows he enjoys the tease, the prospect of denial, but she has never been able to actually deny him anything. The oversensitive throb of her clit has petered out, replaced by a growing heat as she examines the light sheen of sweat along Alexander’s neck and the much more suggestive shine across his chin and lips. He pouts his shining lower lip hard enough that it’s clear he knows how debauched he looks.

She sighs, dramatically, to make sure Alexander knows what a burden this is on her even as she thrills with anticipation. It’s a small matter of shifting back so that she is straddling his hips, and giving his cock a few light strokes in her hand before he’s tipping his head back, his eyes slipping closed. That won’t do. Eliza loves his eyes, how big and damp they get when she gets to lord over him like this, and she won’t let him keep that from her. She reaches out a hand to hold his jaw and run a thumb over his cheekbone. He remembers, opens those big beautiful eyes for her. It’s enough of an excuse to reward him.

She rises up on her knees and steadies his cock with a hand at the base. She allows herself the pleasure of catching a bead of precome at the tip and slicking it over the head with her thumb, listens to him gasp, then bears down quickly, and revels in hearing that gasp turn to a drawn out moan. Despite being bound at the wrist, Alexander’s hips are still free, and he bucks up into her before she bottoms out, forcing the air from her lungs and giving her no choice but to pin his hips to the bed with a free hand. With the other, Eliza smooths back her hair so she can take in the view of his golden, battle-scarred skin from his hipbones to his jaw.

Eliza sits flush against him for a long moment, letting herself adjust to the feeling of him, and it’s easy, routine at this point, but Alexander still writhes under her, and she smiles like she always does and pinches the soft skin of his stomach to stop it. He bites off a moan, and she rises back up as he does, slow and measured so that she can still feel the drag of his cock despite how wet she is for him.

She builds the rhythm slowly, trying to ignore the burn in her thighs as she increases the speed. On any other night, Alexander would be grabbing at her hips, his bitten-down nails biting the soft flesh there. Now, her chest swells with pride as he simply grabs at the sheet beneath him.

Alexander is staring intently down the plane of his own body, down to where his cock is disappearing inside her. Eliza slides one down her body, from between her breasts down over her navel before finally landing over her soft thatch of curls, where she is sure Alexander can see it. She slips two fingers over her clit without breaking her rhythm and strokes hard. She must tighten around him because he gags, whispers, “Christ, Eliza, goddamn,” under his breath. His stomach is twitching beneath her, the muscles jumping each time her fingertips slide over her clit.

It all begins to bleed together, the soft swell of pleasure leaving the movement of her hands and thighs automatic, something she does even as her mind is consumed by a furious need to chase the spark that’s just beyond her reach. Alexander is biting his lip bright red, holding off further blasphemies and appearing as though he might cry or burst into flames or both. Eliza wants to tell him to speak, so she can hear the words he spins from the air like a magician, but her breath is robbed from her, each thrust of him inside her leaving her feeling as though she is both collapsing inward and ready to fly apart in a million pieces.

When she finally comes, it’s almost a relief, the tightly wound tension in her muscles all releasing at once, leaving her wiped out and boneless. She grinds back on Alexander’s cock a few final times, wringing the last aftershocks of her orgasm from herself before she climbs off to lay beside him. Her head is swimming, an ocean between her ears that makes her feel slow and heavy, but she can’t ignore how Alexander is curled up towards her now, his face burying into her shoulder.

Eliza reaches out to grasp Alexander’s cock, all teasing forgotten now. He presses up into her hand as she jerks him roughly, squeezes hard over the head. She kisses over his neck as she goes, and she can feel the vibrations under her lips as he moans under his breath. His voice grows louder sharply, and then he is coming into her hand, leaving a mess over her stomach and his own. He shudders a few times and then falls into her completely, pressed up against her from shoulder to toe despite the stickiness between them. Eliza listens to him breathe, matches her breathing to his own and waits for him to come back down.

The untying is not as simple as the tying was; Alexander’s endless fidgeting only forced the knots tighter until not even Eliza’s delicate fingers could undo them. After a small moment of panic, when she admits that she had no way of freeing him on her own, she tells him to remain where he was as she got her basket of sewing from the corner of the room. Near the bottom, away from the reach of the children are her sturdy fabric shears. With regret, she takes them to her heavy wool stockings, leaving her with a liberated, grateful husband and two halves of a fabric knot.

Eliza tosses the two sides of the makeshift cuffs off the side of the bed; she can deal with disposing of them discreetly in the morning. For now, she turns back to Alexander, whose heavy eyes betrayed a tiredness he never reveals in company besides her own. The skin around his wrists are red, but nothing that would permanently scar or couldn’t be covered up in the next day or two by his long shirtsleeves. She takes his face in between her hands and gives him a kiss she hopes communicates the sheer amount of love she feels for him in this moment, quiet between the two of them.

She isn’t hurt by the weakness of his response; he is already slipping off towards sleep as she lets him go. He mumbles a soft, “Thank you,” as she grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and curls up beside him, but besides that he is silent. But Eliza no longer sees the gears in his head working at top speed; his fingers no longer twitch, aching for a pen and paper to put his exhausting thoughts into reality. No, this is a moment of rare stillness, one she wishes she could capture forever. With his mind emptied, hers is as well, and she is quick to follow him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @laaurens


End file.
